


Supernatural (perfect)

by Wearenotalright



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1767922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wearenotalright/pseuds/Wearenotalright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank really likes to go to the cemetery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supernatural (perfect)

**Author's Note:**

> Not real. 
> 
> Also written in 2007.

I'm walking alone on a dark yet warm August night. It's nice out. I like it a lot right now. The wind isn't cold and the wind isn't hot. It's perfect. I feel perfect. I am perfect.

I like cemeteries. They're really peaceful, and you know no one will hurt you if you go to one. They're all dead and gone. Sometimes I go to the graveyard when I'm depressed, sometimes when I'm in a good mood. I just love them. They're perfect. 

The cold/warm wind feels like I'm a little kid again, jumping into a pool when it would be oh so hot. And I couldn't stand the heat. But things change like myself. For instance, I'm a nineteen year old who's just looking for a good place into the world. It's pretty amazing, being nineteen I mean. College life, perfect people in the big city. Being from a small town like Belleville. New York City seems like Rome. All gorgeous people. No flaws at all. Perfect.   
\---

I open the cemetery gates and I smile. The greetings from the corpses welcome me with open arms. Saying hello to me. I giggle. Saying hello back.  
I start to walk around. The place is very big unlike the other ones I've been to in the past years. It looks very old. Very old indeed. I think it was made in the late 1800's, or maybe the early 1900's. Some of the tombs are falling. Breaking. Decaying away like the millions of dead night creatures that lurk around.   
What I love the most about cemeteries is all the unique names they were given at birth. Unlike mine. Mine is boring and overused. Frank. Frank is such a dull name. What does it mean? Nothing. Nothing at all, maybe that's why I love dead things. You cannot remake or act like a dead person, you can't be them. Nor become them. 

This place is packed! I don't think you can fit any other people in here! It really is. Every tomb is right next to each other. They're touching each other. That makes me almost sad, in a way. Do you think that the dead would like that they're touching other people? Do you think that it's alright for them? What if they didn't want to be touched? What if they didn't want the world to see their beautiful peace of artwork like their tomb stone touching one another? I don't think very much so.   
All these names, they fascinate me. So many names! Billy. Sarah. Elena. Rue.

My eyes dance other this tomb I cannot read correctly. I love finding out names I can't read correctly. I love trying to find out who they were. Who they are now.

The death date I can read correctly, though. He or she died on December 21st, 1907. He or she was dead for a long time. It's 2001 now. My eyes go blue. He or she never got to see what the world is like today. What this world came out to be. He or she didn't even experience the good and the bad things. Inventions such of cell phones and internet. They didn't live when Hitler ruled the world. He or she barely lived. 

I touch the tomb lightly. Afraid it might crack. Or I might crack him or her.

"Why don't you go and bless him?"  
I looked up slowly. I saw a man. A very tall man. A lanky guy, as well. He has black hair and beautiful, beautiful green eyes that almost shine into the rusty and decaying tomb.

"Huh?" I asked, dumbfounded.  
The man laughed, he has an off key laugh. Almost like he hasn't laughed in years. I'm going to say more like a hundred years.

"Bless him; give him something," he told, leaning down next to me. He smells of beer and old cars.

"Like what?"

He smirks and he leans down to my pockets. My eyes almost fell out of my head. What the fuck is he trying to say?

I almost dart away from the mystery man but he tugs me to stay. He goes into my pockets and he takes my last fifty cents. What the fuck?

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Give him this, he'll appreciate it."

I look at the same two coins with confused eyes. He keeps staring at me. Watching my every move. I get an even better look at him. He's so pale. I can't believe how pale he actually is. But he is so flawless. Though he looks like his skin will crack open any second.  
"Put it in the ground." I nod my head and dig a small, very small, hole. Almost scared, I place the small pieces of change into the ground.

"Good!" he yelled in a whisper tone, "very good!"

"What's your name?" he asked me as he lit a cigarette.

"Frank, boring little Frank, you?" I replied.

"Gee, but my full name is Gerard."

"That's an amazing name!" I pipe up, "different and ancient."

"Oh, really?" he questioned.

"Yeah, dude! Totally amazing!"

"Dude? You don't look like a person who would say dude." he said with sly eyes. I look down at my black pants. Ripped up Vans, and black button up shirt. My pale skin looks like a ghost at this time of the night.   
I smirk, "I'm not what everyone says."

"Oh, I can tell, Frank." he smiled. Coming closer to me.

"Hey, Gerard," I ask, "how would you like to die?"  
Gerard's eyes went silent, "I'll probably get stoned to death, knowing how people are with me."

"What you mean?" I asked with empathy.

"I'm gay, so people will probably stone me." Gerard smiled. A smile?  
And then he laughed. But this laugh was like insane laugh. His laugh was cracking.

"I got to go, Frank, I hope I'll see you around."

I frown, "Why do you got to go?"

"People, Frank, people," he said.

"Bye, Gerard." I whisper, almost to tears. The first guy who thought I wasn't a freak, or really, really weird, and he has to go.

"Bye, Frank," he told me, kissing my lips softly. His lips were chapped and old.

"You make me feel alive again, Frank."  
And he left.

I stare back at the tombstone.  
"What the…"

I look at the tombstone again. Now I can read it fully.

"Gerard Way.  
April 9th, 1879 - December 21st, 1907"

"Gerard?" I ask myself, almost in tears.

I look up into a tree. A tall man, very pale man, with beautiful piercing green eyes. The green eyes I knew for only a small hour. The green eyes which are a corpse now. Beautiful, lovely, unforgettable, green eyes.

"So long and goodnight."


End file.
